


The View from G Block

by Dalet



Category: Deadman Wonderland, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Deadman Wonderland, Alternate Universe - Human, Implied Past Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-16 21:32:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11837463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalet/pseuds/Dalet
Summary: SPNxDeadman WonderlandA series of shorts within this crossover, with Balthazar as Ganta and Cass as Shiro. Serious and humorous, not necessarily chronological.





	1. Chapter 1

There’s no light from under the door when Balthazar returns, so he slips inside as quietly as possible.

Cass is a perfect lump under the covers, only his hands and the top of his head visible, even when Balthazar flicks on the desk lamp. He can spy just a hint of the sleeve of Cass’ new pyjamas, the ones they picked out of the catalogue, not _technically_ a matching set with Balthazar’s, but touchingly close.

Balthazar smiles fondly.

Then blinks.

As he climbs into bed, he can tell for sure.

Cass’ bare hands emerge from his sleeves. Balthazar has never seen them, never seen Cass without his second skin: the beautiful, skin tight garments that cover him neck to fingers to toes, day in and day out,

that now lay folded on the desk with his sweater, like any other clothes in the world.

 _Maybe it **was** his grandfather who dressed him that way_ , Balthazar thinks. He can’t imagine it was his mother. True, Balthazar wouldn’t remember anymore, but he does know she never dressed _him_ like that.

The old man only passed a few days ago. Cass asked to move in with Balthazar immediately, but otherwise did his best to hide his feelings, which seemed to add up to more than simple grief. In Deadman Wonderland, it’s easy to see how protectiveness might turn to control, a heavy shell that Cass now, finally, might be able to shed.

What will come next? Balthazar muses as he pulls up the covers. Perhaps a taste for foods other than sweets? Cass has shown no interest in Balthazar’s meals, but he does enjoy watching him cook. Will he want to learn?

No, Balthazar shakes his head, dropping it onto the pillow. He can’t get ahead of himself. Cass has lived here his _entire_ life. In all likeliness, he’ll get dressed in the morning like any other day, and slowly, little-by-little, sort out the pieces of his life, frozen in time in this hellish place.

And Balthazar will be there to help him. They can still start with the clothes. He could offer Cass his jeans to go with the sweater, even just while they’re alone. The catalogue is a world of possibilities, and Balthazar has no shortage of Points. What would Cass _like_ to wear?

... _rings_ , he thinks tiredly.

They catch his eye as he reaches for the lamp.

One on each of Cass’ fingers. perfect white circles just above his knuckles, indenting his skin ever so slightly. Just like rings, only a touch too small.

The phrase “surgically precise” comes to mind.

Balthazar’s eyes trail up along Cass’ wrists, catching only a glimpse of the scars there as well before he hurries to turn out the light.

They’re old, clearly, so it’s _not_ his business, he _knows_ , but-- he can’t help the intrusive question:

Was Cass’ grandfather responsible, or did he only cover it up?

 

* * *

Balthazar awakes early, tugged foggily from an uncomfortable sleep and a dream of being younger than he can recollect, trailing after a white coat he somehow recognizes as his mother.

But it’s never too early to eat, and Balthazar pointedly ignores the persistent stone in his stomach, leaning over to Cass, lips gently brushing his cheek and hovering over his ear.

“...breakfast?”

Cass groans faintly, a long, low protest that he’s even alive at such an hour. Balthazar laughs as Cass secures his pillow tightly over his head.

 

* * *

To his surprise, however, Cass _is_ upright when he returns, waiting patiently for his mug of hot chocolate which Balthazar dutifully hands to him. Cass inhales deeply, savouring the scent and sipping it slowly as Balthazar takes a seat by his side, sliding a tray onto his lap and dividing up their meals.

“I had a funny dream last night,” Cass murmurs cheerfully.

“Oh, lucky _you_ ,” Balthazar huffs with a chuckle.

Cass flashes him a smirk. “We were outside on the grass, you know, by the ice cream cart? and there was an _enormous_ white rabbit, I think- I think it was from one of the picture books in the lab, b ut, at  any  r ate...”

The words fade away into a blur.

A wave of nausea rolls through Balthazar’s head, thick and heavy. His body prickles painfully with a sudden too warm flush, a dull pounding in his ears growing louder as he stares.

He can’t help it. He thinks he might faint.

There is a perfect, white ring around Cass’ neck.


	2. Chapter 2

“Does it always get this hot?” Cass wrinkles his nose.

“Only if you’re wearing a sweater,” Balthazar doesn’t look up from the boiling pot.

“You’re sweating.”

“Well, it’s worth it.”

“If I got that hot even _cooking_ my meal,” Cass observes distastefully, “I wouldn’t be able to stomach _eating_ it, too. I need an ice cream just watching you.”

“If you _made_ your ice cream,” Balthazar smirks, “you’d be too cold to eat it.”

“I’m wearing a sweater.”

 _Touché._ Balthazar looks up at Cass. “Do you _want_ to make ice cream?”

Maybe, thinks Balthazar, he’s finally caught Cass’ interest.

Cass slowly tilts his head as he mulls it over, his heels gently tapping the cupboard under the counter he’s perched on.

“I could put anything I want in it...” he muses dreamily as Balthazar empties the pot. “Cake and cookies, chocolates, candy-”

“You could even add some ice cream,” Balthazar offers wryly.

“If you insist,” Cass shrugs haughtily. “I can put some on the cake.”

“The cake?”

“I changed my mind,” Cass hops off the counter, following Balthazar to the dining table and sliding into a chair. “I want to make a cake instead.”

“With all of the above included?” Balthazar wonders if it’s a wise point to press while he’s trying to eat like a reasonable person, especially when Cass’ smile widens dangerously.

“It’ll be the _perfect_ cake,” he insists. “I can put _everything_ I like in it, split between the layers. Each slice will be like a whole new cake, so we--”

“ _‘We’?_ ” Balthazar cuts in, horrified. “Oh, no, no-- there’s no _‘we’_ here. You and I have our, our-” he gestures at his plate, “-our own domains, and for the sake of peace they should stay that way.”

“But you _like_ all of those things-”

“Yes, but in _moderation_ ,” Balthazar counters, “and separately.”

Cass sighs, his head slowly sinking onto his folded arms.

“Sweets are sweet because you share them with friends,” Cass mutters, looking up at Balthazar dolefully. “That’s what you always told me.”

“Ah, but--” Balthazar scrambles, his resolve slipping before Cass’ sad eyes, “Remind me, what- what was it my mother used to tell _you?_ ”

Cass scoffs, then lifts his head and squares his shoulders authoritatively.

“‘Oh, _Cass’_ ,” he recites, in his best maternal accent, “‘you can’t _do_ that to Balthazar, he’s just a _normal_ child’.”

“Yes, yes, thank you,” Balthazar nods. “I am a mere mortal, with mortal arteries, and I humbly beg for your mercy.”

“Your mother always told _you_ not to be so dramatic about everything,” Cass reminds him smugly.

“ _My mother-_ ” Balthazar continues loudly, “was a complex and controversial figure, and it does not do to dwell on the past. We must keep moving forward.”

“I’m going to make my dream cake.”

Balthazar snaps his mouth shut, his shoulders sagging. “I’m not getting out of this one, am I?”

“You got yourself into it,” Cass points out. “You _want_ me to cook, but you don’t want to taste the consequences.”

Balthazar huffs, then pauses. “All right, how about this? I’ll sample your monster cake, and then _you_ can share _my_ dinner for once.”

“Deal,” Cass answers brightly. Balthazar stares at him.

“You tricky...” Balthazar lays down his fork and sighs deeply, his appetite overwhelmed by the coming pastry nightmare.

“I _am_ going to die in here after all, aren’t I?”


	3. Chapter 3

_Ten seconds left on the clock._

_Cass and Balthazar are the only ones remaining, the ball safely in Cass’ hands. One last pass and Balthazar’s life will be saved._

_Three seconds left, and the floor disappears under Cass’ feet, sending him into the pit._

_“Balthazar, catch!” Triumphant smile on his face, he makes the final pass as he falls._

 

* * *

Balthazar stares at the sweet roll in his hand, the race’s “participation prize,” and now his last meal.

As the scoreboard blared “NO WINNER,” Cass had stared at him in disbelief.

 

* * *

_“What are you **doing**?!” he shouted above the booing crowd. “You dropped the ball!”_

_“Are you **joking**!” Balthazar heaved Cass back onto the stage. “There are spikes down there! People **died**!”_

_“I wouldn’t!” Cass didn't even hesitate in responding. “And what about you?!”_

 

* * *

Even now, Cass watches him with a hard expression, his own roll sitting untouched in his lap.

Had Balthazar sacrificed his life to save his friend’s? He was so sure in that moment.

But perhaps he’d only wasted it not trusting Cass.

Balthazar squeezed his head in his hands. _He didn’t know, he didn’t **know** \--_

“I’m-”

“I am _not_ going to let you die.”

Balthazar laughs bitterly, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes.

“Cass, you’ve already done so much for me, and all _I_ did was drop the ball.”

“Then I’ll do it myself this time.” Cass is utterly undeterred.

“Do...what?”

Cass stares out over the balcony, then leans in close.

“I _know_ where they keep the Candy,” he whispers. “I’ll go tonight, and take as many as I can. That’ll buy you some time to earn more Cast.”

Balthazar stares, bewildered at such a flagrant proposal made so casually on his behalf. His common sense makes it to his mouth faster than his self preservation.

“Out of the question! If they _catch_ you--”

“They won’t.”

“-- _you’ll_ be on death row with me!”

“They _can't_.”

“They’ll throw you in solitary!”

Cass tilts his head, regarding Balthazar bemusedly. He reaches up and pulls his shawl over his head, raising his eyebrows.

It takes Balthazar a good moment to see his point.

“Hey, you-...” Balthazar gestures to their necks. “Where’s your necklace?”

“Balthazar, I’m not an _inmate,_ ” Cass almost laughs, pulling his shawl back on.

“As opposed to what, you _work_ here--?”

“I _told_ you,” Cass reminds him patiently, “I _live_ here. I’ve always lived here.”

“Well I live here too, but...” Balthazar trails off, his eyes going wide. “Wait, ‘ _always_ ‘? You don’t mean--”

Cass nods happily. “This is where _we_ lived.”

“‘Lived’?! I was _born_ here!” Balthazar goes pale. “Are you telling me I came home to _die_ , like a fucking salmon!?”

“Didn’t you know?” Cass tilts his head. “They built Deadman Wonderland on top of the hospital.”

Balthazar swallows stiffly. “...I heard they built it on the epicenter.”

“That’s right,” Cass nods. “The earthquake’s epicenter _was_ the hospital.”

“My God...” Balthazar stares, his mouth dry. “With you in it?”

“Of course.”

“How... how did you survive?”

Cass smiles, his eyes falling away momentarily. He shrugs. “I’m just that strong.”

“--oh-” Balthazar buries his face in his hands, shaking his head. “Cass, would you-- would you _really_ have survived that fall?”

“Yes, really.”

“Into the _spikes?”_

“It wouldn’t even hurt.”

“-oh, _fuck,_ ” Balthazar lifts his head, hurriedly wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry, Cass-- I’m sorry I threw the race, I just couldn’t--”

“You don’t remember, that’s all,” Cass reaches out to brush his hair gently. “You don’t remember what I can do.”

“What, you’ve _always_ been like this?” Balthazar’s disbelief comes out hoarse. “We were only _children-_ ”

“You don’t remember bringing me snacks in the afternoon,” Cass grins slowly, “and things to watch me break. You _loved_ it.”

“Ha!” Balthazar laughs despite himself. “That _does_ sound like me.”

“And _since_ you don’t remember... ” Cass starts, still grinning, “I got to see that surprise all over again. Your face today...”

He looks away, his smile fading into something shier. “I had fun, really...”

Balthazar’s laughter fades away, his stomach slowly sinking.

_Fun...?_

Two days inside Deadman Wonderland, and Balthazar had discovered its central lie.

That there were no lies. The attractions were executed with the blood, sweat, and tears of the “cast,” the inmates. No acting. No effects. That was the lie, for the public.

He’d watched people die today on that obstacle course. He’d heard the ignorant crowd cheer. No one on the inside could possibly have found it _fun._

Then again, they’d all been outsiders once. Maybe he’d _have_ to find the fun in it, if it were all he’d ever known.

“Cass, can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“Why do you stay here?”

Cass smiles at him as though lovingly teaching a very stubborn child. “I _live_ here.”

Balthazar shakes his head. “No, I mean-- why _stay_ here? This place is hell. You could go anywhere, you could _do_ anything-”

“No, I can’t,” Cass’ response is sharp. “I live here.”

“-ah...” Balthazar opens his mouth and shuts it again quietly. “...hm. ...sorry.”

Cass gives a short shrug, but no more explanation.

Balthazar watches him for a long moment, trying to recall an old conversation.

“Dad told me...mum sent me to him because there was an ‘accident’ at the hospital. --she didn’t actually _tell_ him that, he saw it on the news, but-”

“Yes, an explosion.”

“Right,” Balthazar waves his hand. “ _Clearly_ no place for children, and yet...”

“There’s nowhere safer for me,” Cass states simply, hugging his knees. “I survived the earthquake, didn’t I?”

“You shouldn’t have had to, that’s all,” Balthazar murmurs, leaning his head in his hand.

“...just so you know,” he adds, reaching out for Cass’ shoulder, “after I get out of here, you’re always welcome in our home.”

“I--...” Cass starts again, but stops himself, sighing softly. “...thank you.”

“If dad had known there was another child-” Balthazar scoffs bitterly, “he would _never_ have let you stay here alone. I suppose...that’s why mum never said anything, even to me.”

“Hm?” Cass cocks his head curiously. “So you actually remember your mother?”

“Er, sort of,” Balthazar admits. “Not _here_ , but...we spoke a few times after I left, before the earthquake. She seemed so busy, and not...well.”

“She was always like that,” Cass points out. “Did she still sing you the lullaby?”

“Lullaby?”

“...oh,” Cass rests his chin on his knees. “Do you remember it at all?”

“A lullaby...” Balthazar rubs his chin, “...my mother sang...”

“Wrote.”

“A lullaby my mother _wrote_ ,” Balthazar repeats, “and sang for us... -ah!”

Cass lifts his head expectantly.

“Something about a bird, wasn’t it?” Balthazar gestures excitedly, and Cass nods.

“The woodpecker song,” he answers, waiting for Balthazar to go on.

Balthazar shakes his head. “That’s all I’ve got, sorry.”

“So...” Cass points upwards slowly, “...you can’t hear it?”

Balthazar mimics the gesture, eyebrows raised. “Hear it? Right now?”

Cass nods. “Ever since the earthquake, that song plays here all the time, over and over and over... But I’m the only one who can hear it.”

“I’m well aware you can hear beyond the mortal range,” Balthazar chuckles, “but God-- aren’t you sick of it by now?”

“No?” Cass seems to find the question odd. “It’s my favourite song. Except...”

“...?”

Cass looks away, shaking his head nonchalantly. “It doesn’t have a proper ending, that’s all. But-”

He turns back earnestly. “Grandfather’s promised me that he’ll finish it someday. I just have to be patient.”

“Fifteen years and counting is a hell of a lot of patience,” Balthazar scoffs. “ _I_ would do better than that for you.”

“...er, no offense,” he adds belatedly.

Cass touches his lips thoughtfully. “You’re the only other person who could, actually,” he muses.

“Oh dear, I put my foot in the trap, didn’t I?” Balthazar teases, but Cass looks at him seriously.

“You don’t have to,” he says, “It’s not your responsibility.”

Balthazar blinks. “No, it isn’t,” he answers. “It would be a _favour._ ...for a very good friend.”

Cass looks down, a flush creeping up his cheeks.

“...although I still don’t know the words,” Balthazar mumbles, a little red himself. “If you don’t mind...could you sing it for me? I make no promises, but...”

“I’d love to.” 

With a nod and a shy smile, Cass straightens up, and starts to whistle a tune.

Softly, he sings.

 

_“One little woodpecker_

_Pecking your holes another day_

_Ruining the woods, I say_

_Tree wrecker_

_The old forest gods_

_turned your beak into a poison knife_

_Your nesting holes are tainted_

_your food with toxins rife_

_Touch your friends_

_and they fall dead at your feet_

_Poor little woodpecker_

_Poison tears shining brightly_

_as they stream down your cheeks...”_

 

_The piano fades away into silence. Cass and Balthazar had stopped playing to listen, their crayons dropped onto the floor. They stare at each other for a long moment._

_“That’s so sad!” Balthazar calls out, hurrying to his mother as Cass nods along behind him. Balthazar tugs her sleeve. “Mama? Are you crying cause it’s sad?”_

_“...oh, is it?” She turns slowly, laying gentle hands on their heads. “I wrote it for you, Cassie.”_

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is also on my blog [HERE](https://everymeloveseveryyou.tumblr.com/tagged/u:%20deadman%20wonderland).


End file.
